Fate One Shot
by LoveBugOC
Summary: AU. "Do you believe in fate?" He couldn't save her this time. Maybe one day, somebody will stop saving him.


Heyy, so this is my first story! I'm a long time reader, first time poster. This story is an AU about my faveeee couple Ryan and Marissa :) Let me know what you think.

Thanks

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Fate (One Shot)

Three.

He's turned away _three _girls in this low life placed called a bar_. Three _fine-looking, horny-as-fuck women just looking to get laid.

Six years ago he wouldn't have thought twice. Hell, he wouldn't have thought at all before taking any woman in the bathroom down the hall. He wouldn't have cared if he never saw her again either. But that was then. Things are different now. Very...very different.

Ryan Atwood stares at the glass filled with the hardest liquor this dump of a bar has, in his hands. Vodka. It's not what he would like, but its okay anyway because it's _her_ favourite drink. It was.

He's well aware of the blond haired girl sitting next to him, staring at him out of the corner of her eye. She's hot. Damn hot. But he doesn't look at her. He doesn't even acknowledge her. He can't.

She shifts closer to him and it takes everything he has not to move away from her. "Do you believe in fate?" Her voice is quiet. It's sweet and innocent in a drunken sort of way, and a tiny bit scratchy; like_ hers_. He doesn't answer her, but his throat gulps involuntarily and his jaw muscles tighten. She continues to stare at him, waiting for an answer. Curious.

Does he believe in fate? _She_ believed in fate. _Her_ cute, young, beautiful face flashes in front of his closed eyes, like it's taped to the inside of his eyelids. He used to. But fate is no longer a part of his vocabulary.

August 17, 2004

The pit of his stomach clenches in a way that's unfamiliar to him when a short brunette- obviously from money- and her little boyfriend, a tall curly haired kid flash him a picture of their friend. She's missing and they want to know if he's seen her. He's seen her alright. He's definitely seen her.

Ten hours ago he was fighting with his buddies about going to Tijuana with all the rich kids before they all had to go back to school. Now he's helping two kids-his age- look for their friend.

He saw her an hour ago, dancing and laughing with her friends. An hour ago she was acting all happy and drunk and carefree. Now she's missing. "Did you check your hotel," he asks, searching frantically through the streets and crowds of sweaty people, for a girl he doesn't even know.

"Of course we did jackass, we're not stupid," the feisty brunette snaps at him as she too searches in a panic for her best friend. "Coop!"

"Well you lost your friend-"he starts-

"I DIDN'T LOSE HER!" she screams.

"Hey!" The geeky kid yells, speaking for the first time and they race through the streets. "Let's just find her."

"COOP!" The small brunette screams desperately.

Ryan stops abruptly, her voice ringing his ears as he stares down an alley way to the body of a teenage girl lying lifeless and sweaty on the cold, dirty ground. He takes off into a sprint down the alley before the friends even realize it's her. "Hey," he whispers, kneeling down on the ground behind her. He pushes the hair out of her face carefully. "C'mon wake up," he chokes out. She doesn't respond. In the background he can hear the girl crying hysterically and the boy talking frantically into the phone, trying to get an ambulance.

The next thing he remembers is arriving at the hospital in Newport Beach, California. He could've gone home, to Chino, hours ago, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He can't leave until he knows for a fact that she's okay.

He friend are here, sitting across the room from him. Her family arrives: her parents and her friends' parents. And for some reason, he's just as scared for this girls life as the people closes to her are...

He remembers the moment he saw her. She was beautiful...absolutely beautiful. And flawless. Her skin is tanned from the California sun. Her hair was windblown and sweaty. Her faded blue jeans hugged her perfect curves. Her white spaghetti strap shirt clung to her body. She was drop dead gorgeous. One look at her and you had to know that she was no ordinary girl. And that smile...God that smile wouldn't get out of his head.

He hears he sliding glass doors open; the entrance to the expensive waiting room, and the doctor walks in. He sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees while her family rushes to the balding doctor to give him their full attention. He stays in his seat, in the shadow.

She's going to be okay, he says. Ryan breaths a sigh of relief. Her family and friends shed happy tears. He pushes himself to his feet, the exhaustion showing in his slow movements. He starts to move toward the door, but the doctor grabs his arm.

"She wants to see you."

He stares at the older man in front of him, the word echoing in his mind like a foreign a language. "Me?" he asks, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in his throat.

"You're the kid that got her out of that alley right?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"Then I'll show you to her room."

Ryan nods, following the doctor out of the waiting room-too embarrassed and scared to look at her family. He follows him down the hall, staring at the tiles on the floor. What the hell was he supposed to say? Or do? He doesn't know her...

The doctor opens the door for him and he walks in slowly. Her eyes are glued to the window. Her hair is still kind of messy and she's a little bit pale, but she's still the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. The door closes with a thud and her face snaps sideways, staring at him. "Hey..." he whispers softly, smiling shyly at her.

"Hi..." she whispers back sitting up slightly. She smiles weakly and looks down.

"You're okay..." he trails off, walking further into the room.

"Yeah, my throat's a little sore though, but..."

"They pumped your stomach," he tells her, cutting her off. "Vodka and painkillers? Good combo," he says bitterly, sarcasm bleeding in his tone. He can't help it. She looks down, visibly upset and he finds himself sitting on the edge of her bed. "Sorry..."

"I didn't try to kill myself," she whispers hoarsely. "I just..."

"Doesn't matter," he says confidently. "You're okay. That matters."

She smiles sweetly at him and his heart beats faster. His palms start to sweat and he looks down, rubbing them on his dirty, dusty jeans. He isn't sure what's wrong with him. The things this girl was doing to him should be illegal.

"I should go, "he mumbles softly. "And your parents really want to see you."

"Great," she mutters sarcastically.

He catches a glimmer of sadness in her beautiful blue eyes and he knows for a fact that it's not just because of her parents. He knows, he doesn't know, but he does. He pushes himself to his feet and turns to leave, but her small delicate fingers wrap around his rough fingers. He feels electric sort of shocks and looks at her.

"Can you...kiss me?" Her head tilts to the side shyly.

"Kiss you?"

"Please?" she asks, tugging on his hand. Her bottom lip pouts out slightly.

He struggles with his urge to jump her in that adorable hospital gown. "I don't..." he stutters, uncertain, "I don't even know you..." It's never stopped him before, but this feels different.

"Marissa Cooper," she states.

He laughs at her forwardness and turns his body toward her, her hand still clutching his.

"I'm 15 years old. I live in Newport Beach California and I go to Harbour. It's a private school but without uniforms. Now you know about as much as the rest of Newport."

The last word barely leaves her lips and he kisses her. Hard. His free hand cups her face and her arms wrap around his neck. He nibbles softly on her bottom lip, before pulling away. Whoa.

"Wow..." she whispers.

He pulls away completely, clearing his throat. She lets go of him and he takes his chance to leave, moving toward the door.

"Will I see you around?"

He opens the door and turns to her, grinning playfully. "I hope not." She smiles back and he leaves as fast as he can.

He thinks that could've been fate. He hadn't wanted to go to Mexico with Trey and Arturo and Eddie. He didn't care about hooking up with "rich bitches", as Trey called them. But he'd gone. And he's seen _Marissa_ and he saved _her_.

That was four years ago. It was 'fate' back then. But now...now he's not so sure.

A year later, they met again. It was under different circumstances. But she was still the same girl.

June 2, 2005

Chino was boring these days. Eddie was in jail. Arturo was in jail. And Trey was...he was a long story. Ryan was the only one from the old crew left. And there isn't much for a seventeen year old boy to do in Chino alone. Well, there's a lot he can do, but it's boring without someone to watch or laugh or cheer on. Like, lighting garbage cans on fire. Or stealing gum from the corner store. Street-racing. Street-fighting; which is his personal favourite. Or even competing to see who can get the fire escape ladders down and back up again faster. It was no fun without any friends.

Instead, Ryan rides down the streets of Chino on his bike-the one that Trey found him when he was ten. He's been using it ever since, and it still rides like its brand new.

It's starting to get dark as he rides past a bus stop. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a girl being attacked down an alley way. Without even thinking, he jumps off of his bike letting it fall to ground and he runs towards the scene. "HEY!" he shouts, grabbing the man by the back of his shirt. He pulls him backwards and spins him around, slamming him hard into the wall. "Walk away."

"Chill out man-"

"I said walk away!" he yells, pushing him harder into the wall, his hand squeezing his neck tightly.

"Alright."

"What?"

"I said alright!" the man yells frantically, pulling on his hands in a vain attempt to loosen Ryan's grip.

"Alright," Ryan says calmly, letting him go. As soon as he's out of eye sight, Ryan turns around to face the girl. He smirks when he realizes it's Marissa Cooper staring back at him, bewildered. "You again..."

"Hi...umm, thanks," the blond beauty stutters shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"No problem," he says nodding.

"You're kind of scary..."

"Only when I have to be," he says honestly. He receives a smile before she starts to talk away. And he knows he should just let her go, let her go on with her life, ignore the flip flops his stomach is doing and grab his bike and ride away. But he can't. "What are you doing here?" he asks curiously, following her out of the alley.

She stops and he picks up his bike. "I'm just...in the neighbourhood."

"Mhmm, why don't I believe you?" He stares at her intently, walking after with his bike beside him.

She shrugs, smiling innocently at him. "I should go."

"Okay, see ya." He watches her in amusement as she walks away. Her body language; in that short jean skirt and pink tank top, telling him what he already knows. "You look lost!" he yells after her.

She turns to face him, the light from the street above shining beautifully on her face, showing tear streaks he didn't see before. "I'm not lost, I'm just...okay I'm totally lost," she groans, walking towards him, carrying her large Chanel bag in front of her.

"You plan on going home?" he asks casually. But he only wants to know how long she's staying.

"Not tonight..."

"You can stay with me, " he offers before mentally kicking himself in the head for being so forward.

She hesitated for a minute. "I don't want to impose, I can stay a motel or-"

"Please, "he scoffs jokingly, "you're high maintenance ass sleeping in a bug infested motel room?" He grins, teasing her.

She glares at him, followed by a smile and a bite of her lip. "Lead the way."

A little over 20 minutes later, Ryan pulls his keys out of his front pocket of his jeans, glancing at Marissa; who's looking around his front yard as she leans his bike on his front porch. He's content when he sees interest and not disgust on her face. He pushes open the door and motions for her to go ahead. She does as she's told, sending him a shy smile as she hugs the sweater he lent her on the way around her. "So it's not much, but..." he trails off, locking the door behind him. He wants to say it's home, but it's not.

"No, it's fine. Thanks."

He watches her sit down on the old, stained couch, before shaking his head. "You want something to eat, or drink?" he asks pulling a beer out of the fridge for himself. He pulls one out for her too.

"No, it's okay, "she replies softly.

He ignores her and hands her the beer anyway, to which she laughs. "It's not vodka but..." He smiles, teasing her.

"My boyfriend cheated on me, "she says suddenly, her eyes staring at the floor as she nurses her bottle. He sits down in the chair beside the couch, facing her. "That's why I...you know. It was two days after I gave my virginity to him. I was just trying to escape you know?"

"Don't I..." he mumbles, so low that he thinks she doesn't hear him.

"I'm here 'cause I ran away," she admits. "My friend took me to LA today, to keep me from finding out that my mom slept with my ex-boyfriend." She takes a large sip of her beer.

"Jesus," he mutters, staring at her intently. It's taking everything in him not to reach forward and wipe her tears away. Or kiss her tear soaked lips.

"She's such a whore," she laughs bitterly. "And she's probably on the phone with the doctors telling them how crazy she thinks I am."

"And running away is proving her wrong?"

"No," she whispers, finally her gaze to meet his. "Running away is proving to her that she doesn't own me." She takes another long gulp of her beer.

"She'll call the cops-"

"Let her. They'll never find me."

She looks down again and he finds himself staring at her. Watching her every move. Watching the way she bites her lip to keep from falling apart. The way her fingers play with the hem of the sleeves of his sweater; that is two sizes too big for her. The way her hair will fall into her face and every time it does, she tucks it behind her ear. The sound of her voice pulls him out of his thoughts: his too-payed-attention-to-thoughts. Because let's face it, he's paying way too much attention to this girl.

"I can't believe I just told you all that. I don't even know your name..."

He laughs softly, a smiling forming on his lips as he leans close to her. "Ryan Atwood. I'm seventeen years old." She looks at him, intrigued. Smiling. "I live in Chino, California. I don't go to school, haven't since I was 14. Dad's in jail. Mom's MIA; drunk. "

"Wait, you live here alone?" She asks her eyes wide with shock, and a little bit of worry.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging his shoulders casually.

"Isn't that against the law?"

"That's the good part about Chino. Nobody cares."

A couple of hours later, Ryan leads her down the hall to his bedroom. The bedroom he used to share with Trey before their mom took off and Trey moved into her room. He lets her walk in ahead of him and watches her silently from the doorway as she looks around the room. Intrigued. Curious. Only now does her realize just how long her legs are under that skirt.

"There's only one bed," she says turning around to face him from the middle of the room. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

He shrugs, leaning on the door frame. "The couch." He supposes he can sleep in his moms' room, but he hates it.

"No, no way. This is your bed," she says, walking towards him looking guilty. "We'll share."

He smiles when she tilts her head to the side. But he knows it's not a good idea. Sharing a bed with a girl that he's obviously attracted to? A girl who's changing all the rules and everything he's ever known; about himself. A girl that with one look did things to him that no other girl could, things that he didn't understand. "I dunno..."

"I won't hog the sheets, I promise," she giggles.

He laughs, cocking his head to the side. "Well in that case," he caves, unable to say "no". She smiles, turning toward the bed. He follows her, climbing onto the bed closest to that wall while she slips off his sweater. He lies on his back on top of the covers and she climbs underneath them. "You don't snore do you?"

"No!" she yells, giggling as she lies on her back. "Well I don't think so. I've never actually slept with someone before."

"Yeah me either," he says, staring up at the ceiling. She laughs. He's never actually stayed the night with a girl before because he was too busy climbing out the window, or back into the front seat. That was with girls he's known his whole like. And yet here he is, sharing his bed with a girl he barely knows. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye and she's staring at the ceiling too.

What the hell is happening to him?

The next morning Ryan stirs awake, burying his face into something warm. That's when he realizes it's Marissa and that's pressed up against him. He opens his eyes and raises his head slightly, his arms wrapped around her tightly. He notices her eye lashes fluttering and the corners of her mouth pulling back into a smile. He pulls away quickly, half out of shock and half out of fear. Shock that he was in that position and fear that he like it. She turns over slightly, her shoulder touching his. "Sorry..." he whispers shyly. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay," she smiles.

He smiles back before turning away and climbing out of the bed. He wants nothing more that stay in that bed with her, but he knows that if he stays, he won't be able to stop himself. He's well aware of her eyes watching him as he grabs a wife beater and clean boxers from the beat-up dresser. "I'm gonna change," he says turning to her, scratching the back of his neck like a nervous child.

"Me too."

He nods awkwardly before leaving the room and walking across the hall to the bathroom. He changes into fresh clothes, washes his face and walks back out into the hall. He battles between going to the kitchen and going to check on her. He goes to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, he's standing in front of the stove, watching the eggs cook in the pan when he hears Marissa walk in.

"You can cook too?"

Her voice is innocent, soft...amused. "Yeah."

"I can't even make cereal," she giggles, walking around him to watch.

"I can teach you, you know, sometime..." he offers, hesitantly. He knows it won't happen.

"Okay." She grins, leaning her back on the counter beside him.

"You like scrambled eggs right?"

"Love them." Her voice sounds far away, thoughtful. "Hey who's this?"

He turns his attention to the picture in her hand. It was him and Trey; Trey's arm around Ryan's neck in a fake choke hold. His dad took the picture and put it on the fridge as soon as it developed-two days before he got arrested. "My brother, Trey. He's 21."

"He doesn't live here?"

"Nah, I dunno where he is..." he trails off, not sure whether he should continue. This is the first time he's talked about his brother since he took off.

"What happened?"

"Drug deal gone bad," he says, the words coming out before he can stop them "Arturo's in jail. Eddie's in jail. And Trey sort of...took off."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He smiles weakly, his thumb stroking her fingers. "Thanks," he says pulling his hand away. He puts the scrambled eggs onto two plates, handing the one with flowers on them to her. "So when do you plan on going home?"

She looks at him, faking offense. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Wha-no," he says truthfully. "I just figured...you know..."

"What?" she giggles. "That just 'cause I'm from Newport I can't handle Chino?"

"No," he laughs. "Well, yeah."

"I bet you I can totally handle it."

He grins, stuffing some eggs into his mouth. She smiles back.

Ten hours later they're in his car on the way home. Well, technically it wasn't his car, but close enough. An hour after that, he's driving away and she's quickly fading out of his life. Again.

They had spent the day together, roaming Chino. Riding his bike and pissing people off as they swerved around them. There was no racing, or fire starting, but in those 10 hours, he'd had more fun with her than he ever had before.

Maybe it was because she was so carefree, and easy to be around. Maybe it was because her laugh was just so sweet. Maybe it was because he could be himself around her. Or maybe it was fate...

It wasn't until a year later that he saw her again. Maybe he should've known. Or guessed.

May 19, 2006

He isn't sure why he's here, in this too-good; too-stuck up town they call Newport Beach. He isn't even sure how he got her-by car he knows, but why? It was a year ago today that his best friends got busted and his brother took off. Maybe that's why. But still...why Newport?

After leaving "his car" in the parking lot at the pier, he's grabbed his black leather jacket, pulled it on over his grey hoodie and wandered down to the beach. He doesn't know what it's called-if it even has a name, or where he's even going-if anywhere. Just a walk, he tells himself. But deep down he knows it's about a girl. A girl with dirty blond hair and beautiful blue eyes.

Hearing voices arguing, he looks p to see a girl walking quickly away from a guy who's chasing her. He recognizes her voice and her hair blowing in the wind and his heart skips a beat, but he's also hoping he's wrong. Because really, how many times does one girl need saving?

All of a sudden, she hits the ground with a loud thud and the guy's on top of her, clawing at her and grabbing her clothes. She's screaming and crying and again he doesn't think twice before running at them as fast as he can. He dives at the guy with a flame tattoo on his right arm, knocking him to the ground. His right arm flies towards his face, his fist-hard and clenched- connecting with his jaw. He hears Marissa's muffled screams and cries but he ignores hem, throwing all of his strength in the face of his opponent.

"RYAN!" she yells. "Ryan he's done, stop!"

He does as he's told, against the wishes in his head telling him to kill the son of a bitch for hurting her. "You touch her again and I'll kill you," he says angrily, his voice hoarse. He climbs to his feet, leaving_ him _to suffer on the ground and he grabs her elbow, pulling her down the beach. "Talk."

"What?"

"Talk! Say something so I don't turn around and end him," he says, his voice shaking with anger.

"I um...thank you," she breaths, wiping her eyes dry. "What's with you and being at the right place at the right time all the time?"

"What's with you and putting yourself in dangerous positions?" he snaps back, bitter.

"I know..." she whispers, biting her lip. She moves in front him and he's forced to stop. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?" he whispers back, his hands automatically finding her face in the dark, stroking her cheeks; inspecting her face for injuries. Relief washes over him when he finds nothing. "Who is he?"

She looks down, visibly upset, embarrassed. "He was my boyfriend...I broke up with him."

He nods, looking down at his own feet. All he wants to do is kiss her. Take her pain and sadness away. Save her every sense of the word.

"I have an idea!" she exclaims, giggling suddenly. "C'mon!" She grabs his hand pulling him up the beach. "Where's your car?"

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan pulls the car into the driveway Marissa told him to enter. He puts it in park and she's already jumping out of the car. He follows quickly, staring at the locked gate. "What are we doing here?"

"It's a model home," she smiles. "Nobody lives here. Nobody will for at least another month."

"So what are we doing here?" he repeats, running his hand along the iron bar.

"You're the bad boy. Figure it out," she challenges him, giggling.

He grins, placing his other hand on the iron bar and pulls himself up while Marissa grabs some blankets and towels from the back seat of his car.

After almost an hour of playing around in the pool-fully clothed- and pushing each other and jumping on each other, Ryan jumps effortlessly out of the pool. He grabs her hands, those electric sparks coming back. "You even so much as tug and I'll drop you," he threatens playfully. She doesn't tug, so he pulls her out and into the "model home". She stays by the doors and he walks into the middle of the large open room. He pauses, bending down to pick up two towels and looks around the room. This one room is the size of his house, and he wonders what's more sad. That his house is the size of this one room, or that people actually think they need a house this huge. Still...what he wouldn't give to live here.

"Hurry up! I'm freezing!" she squeals, her voice shaking from the chills.

He laughs and goes over to her, watching her lips and teeth chatter uncontrollably. Her lips are a light shade of purple. He smirks, wrapping the one towel around her and placing the other under his arm while he rubs her arms to warm her up. "You have goose bumps," he comments, still staring at her lips.

"I know!"

He raises his eyes to meet her. Her face is inches away from his and he's finding it very, very hard to concentrate. She rests her forehead on his, and her breath is hot and powerful and sexy on his lips and he isn't sure he can hold off anymore. He's really sure he doesn't want to. Suddenly his arms aren't moving in that up and down motion and they're wrapping around her slim and wet and cold waist. He can literally feel his heartbeat racing rapidly and his breath becoming shallow and desperate.

"Kiss me."

The words don't have to leave her lips twice before he's kissing her softly. Passionately. Her arms wrap around his neck and her mouth opens, deepening the kiss. He can't refrain any longer. It's too hard. The kiss intensifies, grows harder and he pushes her against the wall, his right hand running through her hair, holding the base of her neck. His left hand finds its way up her shirt, and she moans. She moves her face, gasping for air and he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck and across her collar bones. He doesn't need air. He needs her. Only her. Her breaths are short and heavy and he knows from that fact alone that she's never been kissed the way he's kissed her. The way he continues to kiss her. He pulls her shirt off over her head and takes a second to take it all in. That's when he notices it. A large black and blue bruise on her chest. Another one- a purple one on her hip. The muscles in his jaw tighten and he grabs her face in both of his hands. "Was that him?"

Her eyes fall to the floor, ashamed. Embarrassed. Scared.

"How long?" he waits for an answer and when it doesn't come, he goes to walk away. "I'll kill him."

"Don't.-"

"He deserves it!" he yells angrily.

"Ryan please," she whispers, pulling him back into her. She kisses him hard on the lips. "Make love to me," she murmers into his lips.

He wants to tell her he can't. He wants to tell her he doesn't know how to "make love". He only knows sex. That's it. But he's willing to try. She kisses him again and soon enough the thoughts of killing _him _are replaced by her. And he makes love.

The next morning, for the second time in his entire life, Ryan Atwood wakes up entangled with a girl. Marissa Cooper. What it is about this girl, he isn't sure, but she consumes him. That, he's absolutely positive.

He tilts his head downward, his chin resting on the top of hers while she sleeps, soundlessly. The memories of last night come flooding back to him. Laying her down, naked, on the blanket spread out on the floor. He back arching every time he kissed _that _spot. Kissing every inch of her body until he was sure there wasn't a millimetre he hadn't claimed. Savouring every part of it.

He catches a glimpse of the bruise on her chest and he sighs softly. Seventeen. He counted seventeen bruises on her body. Her chest, her stomach, her hips, her shoulder blades, her legs. That little fucker left seventeen bruises on her...on his Marissa. He should've ended him when he had the chance. Time in prison was a hell of a lot better than the beating of a seventeen year old girl. His seventeen year girl.

She starts to stir next to him, burying her face into his bare chest before tilting her head up to look at him. "Hi," she whispers groggily.

"Hey," he grins.

She shifts on top of him, settling comfortably in his arms and kisses him softly. "I slept great," she smiles into his lips.

"Good," he murmers, nibbling on her lip. He moves his right arm and puts it under his head, his left arm massaging small circles on her lower back. She pulls away lying on her head down on his shoulder, her face in the crook of his neck. All he can think about is _him_ hurting her, and the answer she never gave him. "How long?" he asks softly.

"What?"

"How long?"

She pulls away, sitting up with her back toward him, holding her half of the covers to her chest. She doesn't look at him.

He sighs, turning onto his side. "I'll start easier, how long have you been with him?"

She sighs, running a hand through her dirty blond hair. "Nine months," she whispers.

"How long has he been hitting you?" he doesn't want to ask her, but he has to.

"Ryan-"

"I know it's not the first time. How long?"

"Five months," she answers her voice barely audible.

He bites his lip to keep from freaking out on her. How could a man do that to her? How could she stay? How could she let him? He moves forward and kisses her shoulder softly, his left arm wrapping around her waist. "You don't deserve that," he mumbles into her shoulder. He kisses it again and the rests his chin there. "You're better than that."

She laughs weakly, bitterly. "Am I though?" she turns her face to look at him and he takes the chance to kiss her properly. "This is the third time you've had to save me."

"And I'd do it again," he says immediately, making her smile. "Don't go back to him..."

Okay," she whispers, pressing her lips into his.

Two hours later, after spending the whole time making love to her over and again, they lay silently tangles on the floor. He's sure he's going to feel the effects of being on the floor later, but it's worth it. And he knows it's corny and totally over rated, but he thinks that he can live like this. In a big fancy house, with a big fancy car, with her. Waking up to her every morning. Making love to her. But that's all her allows-a thought. Because he knows it won't happen. Because they have different lives. She's meant for the elegant, privileged life with private schools and expensive things and Ivy League colleges. Colleges she'll be applying to next year. He's meant for the poor, boring life with fights and robberies. It is what it is, and who is he to change that?

He moves to sit up and she rolls off of him as he pulls on his boxers and gathers the rest of his clothes. He has to go-he has to leave before he changes his mind.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, I gotta go, um..." he turns to face her. "I gotta get back." He smiles weakly. "get dressed and I'll take you home."

Ten minutes later Ryan's throwing the blankets and towels into the trunk while Marissa leans against the passenger side door in his grey hoodie and her favourite jeans. He shuts the trunk door closed firmly and walks over to her, smiling shyly.

She smiles back, holding out her cell phone. "Put your number in."

He does as he's told while she plays with the zipper on his leather jacket. When he's done he gives it back to her.

"Can I keep this?" she asks, tugging on the grey sweater.

"Anything," he whispers, grabbing the back of her head and kissing her hard on the lips. He's afraid to pull away, but when he does, she smiles.

Her smile had always been priceless. It made his heart beat faster and his palms sweat and knees weak. That smile alone drove his senses crazy.

But it was her eyes. Her eyes gave her away-every time. It never mattered how wide the smile was, or how happy she looked, her eyes-her beautiful, ocean blue eyes-proved otherwise. She was sad. She was depressed.

But that day, her eyes matched what her smile was telling him. She was happy. She was happy. Like it was an accomplishment. And the sad part is that that's exactly what it was.

In the year that followed, all he wanted to do was go and see her. He missed her, everyday. He wanted her, everyday. Right up until the day he got that phone call. Back then, he might've called it fate...

June 25, 2007

His phone rings three time before her pulls it out of his pocket lazily. He rests his back against the headboard of his bed with a thud and answers it. "Yeah."

"Hi!"

He sits up quickly, taken aback by her voice in the phone. He blinks rapidly in confusion. "Hey..."

"Hi," she says again, softly this time.

"Hi, um, what's up?" he stutters nervously, cursing himself silently for sounding so stupid.

"I graduate tomorrow," she says and he can hear the smile in her voice.

He smiles, playing absently with a loose thread on his bed spread. "That's great. I'm proud of you babe."

"Thank you..."

Silence falls over them and he lies back down on the bed.

"I want you to come," she says finally.

"To your graduation? I don't think that's a good idea," he says hesitantly.

"Hey it's a great idea," she says softly. "I want you there..."

"Okay, "he laughs. "I'll be there."

"And maybe after you could drive me to the airport," she suggests, the word coming out slowly.

"Airport? Are you going to college early or..."

"I'm not going to college-not right now anyway," she adds quickly. "My dad has this condo in Hawaii, and he works on this cruise ship and I told him I wasn't ready for college so he invited me to go out on their next trip. For a year..."

"A year..." he repeats, trying his best to not sound too sad.

"Yeah." She breaths out slowly. "I'm gonna try my hand at manual labour."

"You? Manual labour?" he teases, making her laugh. "Good luck!" she continues to giggle even after he's done teasing her. "When do you leave?"

"My plane leaves at 10 pm...I have to be at the airport by 9"

"Okay..."

"So you'll drive me?"

He closes his eyes at the hopefulness in her voice. "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Yay!" she giggles. "I gotta go though, so the ceremony starts at eleven," she says, and he can hear the excitement in her voice.

"Wha-ceremony?"

"Duh! It's graduation," she laughs, putting an emphasis on the word graduation.

"Right," he says softly, groaning inwardly.

"See ya."

"Yeah, bye," he says hanging up. He groans loudly this time and tosses the phone onto the mattress. What the HELL was he supposed to wear to that? He doesn't own a suit and he sure as hell doesn't own a tie...he's doomed.

The next morning at 7:00 am sharp, Ryan wakes up to his alarm. He proceeds to have breakfast, shave his 5 o'clock shadow and shower. When it comes time to getting dressed, he pulls on a plain white wife beater, and an old pair of boxers. He then continues to share aimlessly at his beat up dresser, willing it to tell him what to wear.

He thinks about calling and asking Marissa for advice, considering she looks like she just walked out of a fashion magazine all the time. But he decides against it, not wanting her to know how much time and effort he's putting into this thing.

He changes his shirt five times and his jeans twice, deciding to go with basic black. Black t-shirt, black jeans and black boots. It's a Ryan Atwood classic.

At around 10:43 am (exactly), Ryan makes his way through all the proud, chatting parents and towards the audience sitting area. It was very...elegant. Prestigious. Having seen the "first come first serve" notice, he takes a seat at the front, in the corner under a tree. Far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough that she'll be able to find him.

While he waits for the ceremony to begin, he tries not to think about how awkward it is. And it is definitely awkward. Here he is, at somebody else's graduation when he himself didn't even get that far he dropped out. It's awkward too that he's surrounded by people he doesn't know-a situation he usually tries to avoid-for a girl. Granted she isn't JUST a girl, but still. That and the fact that he sticks out like a sore thumb in his attire. Then to add to the awkwardness, he sees her fiery haired mother and her friends parents sit down at the other end of the very same row.

Soon enough the entire outside courtyard is full of people-family members, friends...lovers. Their graduation music starts and some Dean Kim woman welcomes the Class of 2007 as the teenagers emerge from God knows where. Boys in blue gowns. Girls in burgundy gowns. His eyes settle on Marissa, her vibrant smile and ocean blue eyes setting her apart from everybody else. His eyes never leave her as they sit down in their rightful chairs. And even as the Valedictorian gives her speech, he watches her smile and laugh and whisper wither friend Summer. She's happy, he notices, and he wonders briefly it it's still an accomplishment.

The dean comes back to the podium and starts to introduce each student, while at the same time giving them their diplomas. She says "Marissa Cooper" and her mother screams excitedly, and her sister stands up-"wooing"- as the blond bombshell makes her onto the stage. She shakes the dean's hand with her right and takes the diploma with her left hand, pausing for a picture. The blond squeals loudly, making everyone laugh as she hugs the woman before making her way down the stairs, holding her diploma in one hand and her cap on with the other. Their eyes connect and he winks at her to which she throws him a smile, before hurrying to take back her spot.

A few hours later, after everybody has officially graduated and all the speeches are made, the graduates stand up and all at once, toss their caps into the air.

Everybody in the audience claps, giving them a standing ovation and Ryan takes part.

The graduates make their exit and everybody follows suit, moving to the back of the school where they are told that refreshments are available. Ryan follows, a safe distance away from her family. And all of the various families go off in search of their kids to take pictures and cry and celebrate. Ryan stays in the back, watching Marissa do the very same.

A short while later, while standing next to the drink table, he catches a glimpse of Marissa walking towards him, still clad in her cute little gown. She smiles excitedly and throws herself into his arms. He hugs her tightly, lifting her off the ground before settling her back on her feet.

"I'm officially a high school graduate," she grins, keeping her arms locked around his neck.

"Yeah, I didn't notice," he teases, pushing his forehead into her, before realizing what he's doing. He pulls away dropping his hands to his side, but still allowing her arms around his neck. "I'm proud of you."

She grins wide and happy, unwrapping her arms around from around his neck. "I want you to officially meet my mom."

"What?" he asks his eyes wide with shock and a little bit of fear? He's never done the whole parent-meet-'n-greet thing before.

"Yeah," she smiles reassuringly. "She wants to meet the boy who saved my life and properly thank him." She pokes him in the stomach.

"Uh..." he hesitates.

She presses her lips into his and for some reason he's caught off guard. "Please?"

He pulls away and looks past her nervously. Summer looks away quickly and he knows that now he has to. "Lead the way."

She smiles proudly and grabs his hand before pulling him toward her family. "Mum!" she yells loudly to get her attention.

He trails after her nervously, watching as everybody including her mother turns to face them. He looks down, the lump in his throat growing larger every second she stops suddenly and he almost walks into her before stopping behind her. She continues to hold his hand and he's relieved because for some reason it makes him feel better.

"Mom, this is Ryan Atwood," she says glancing back at him for a brief second. "He's the-"

"-boy who saved your life in Mexico," the fiery haired woman states, staring at him.

"Ryan this is my mom and Summer and Seth and his parents Sandy and Kirsten. Sum's dad is here somewhere too," she says, but he's not really listening.

Julie Cooper hugs him, tightly. His eyes widen in shock and he looks at Marissa who smiles reassuringly. "Thank you." She pulls away and pats his shoulder. "I dunno what I would've done if-"

"Mum," Marissa groans.

"I try not to think about it," he says smiling shyly. Both mother and daughter smile back and he feels compelled to say something. Something more-they both deserve it. "I wouldn't have done it any differently."

"Looks to me like we have a hero in our midst," Sandy jokes, making everyone laugh.

Ryan smiles awkwardly, sending a glance in Marissa's direction. He notices the way her cheeks grow pink in embarrassment, her hair falling in her face and he finds it way too difficult to refrain from pushing it back.

"We're gonna go get drinks," she says suddenly. "We'll be back." She pulls him away and back towards the drink table. "Nice outfit by the way."

He glares at her playfully, a grin playing on his lips."Are you mocking me?"

"No," she giggles, turning toward him. She smiles innocently. "Maybe a little..."

"A little huh?" he laughs, grabbing her around the waist and tickling her. He forgets, briefly about Newport's entire population around him, including her family-and catches her lips in his. He kisses her softly, she returns it, her arms wrapping around his neck and playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

She pulls away shortly after and turns to get a drink. "I think you look cute."

"Cute? Nah, I'm not cute," he says acting hurt.

"Dangerous?" she giggles.

He considers this, taking a sip of water.

"How 'bout hot?"

"Yes. Yeah hot definitely works," he grins. He takes another sip and glance back at her family. And he wonders why Julie isn't driving her daughter to the airport. He turns back to Marissa. "Does your mom know that I'm taking you to the airport?"

"Yeah, well sort of. She knows a friend's taking me so..."

"And she's okay with that?"

"She kinda has no choice," she laughs. "I want you to be the last one I say goodbye to."

He nods, showing her he understands. And he does. He totally does. Call him selfish but he wants to be the last one to see her before she leaves. He doesn't know why, but that's not important.

A few hours later, after the party had ended and everybody started to leave, Ryan, Marissa, Seth and Summer ended up going to the beach-along with half of the school. Even then though, they spent the evening fooling around in the water and in the sand. And it was like he had known Seth and Summer his whole life, or at least as long as he's known Marissa.

Another few hours after that, Ryan and Marissa are finally on the road. For the better part of ten minutes, the ride is silent. Comfortable, but silent. In fact Ryan rather likes the silence. Not only does it mean he doesn't have to form actual words, but it also gives him an excuse to look at her. And time to think. But still, he doesn't want their last time together to be one of silence, so he asks an obvious question. "Are you scared?"

"Of what?" she asks, turning to face him.

He keeps half an eye on her and the other half on the road. "Of going away. Starting over. Manual labour," he says, adding on the last part to make it a bit less intimidating.

"Truthfully, I dunno," she whispers, looking deep in thought as her eyes move to look out the window. "You know, I used to want to get out of here so badly. Just leave and forget this place. Like it would forget me..."

"Impossible," he says softly, smiling at her.

She smiles back and continues. "But now it's like, this is my home. It's where I grew up, where I belong..." she trails off, thoughtful. "I'm terrified." She says it like she's only realizing it now.

"It's not too late to turn back, "he suggests half joking-half completely and utterly serious. He doesn't want her to go-Hawaii is like a world away.

"I can'," she giggles, not picking up on his "serious" undertone and she smiles at him.

"I know." He stares hard at the road, trying to distract himself from what he was really thinking. And that's turning the car around and, basically, kidnapping her. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She's still smiling as she's staring out the window and he can't help but wonder if she really is happy. Because when he looks into her eyes it's like he's looking right into her soul. And he can't see the sadness and depression and hurt that used to haunt them. And even after everything that's happened, after everything he witnessed alone, she still seems happy. She's still hurt and broke, but she's healing rather quickly. And she's standing all on her own. "Are you happy?" he blurts out suddenly.

She seems to think about it for a second before looking at him. "Yeah, I am. And it doesn't feel like an accomplishment anymore."

He grind, sending her a quick glance.

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Right now," he says staring straight ahead. He's always happy with her. He'll never say anything, but he is. And he knows that the minute she disappears into the terminal, it'll all be gone. And he still doesn't turn the car around.

"That night, " she whispers, hesitantly, "in Mexico... Did you ever think we'd..." she trails of shyly.

"You saying its over?" he asks with a grin. "I mean you never know right?"

She smiles, leaning across the armrest separating them to kiss him on the cheek. When she pulls away, she wipes off the remaining lip gloss-strawberry flavoured. His personal favourite.

Bright lights all of a sudden shine in through the back window, startling bother of them.

"Who is it?" Marissa asks in confusion.

"I dunno," he murmers, sticking his hand out the window to tell them to go around. They don't listen. "Go ahead," he says loudly, knowing they can't hear him.

All of a sudden the van behind them hits the rear end of Ryan's jeep, jolting them forward. "Fuck!" Ryan yells, glancing back to make sure she's okay.

Marissa stares back at the van and it hits them again. "What the hell!" she screams as the van moves along side them "Oh my God." She covers her hand over her mouth.

Ryan's too busy watching the road to spare a look over. "What?"

"It's him, it's Kevin!" she screams desperately out the window, "What are you doing?!"

"Pull over!" the angry ex-boyfriend yells back.

"I thought you ended it," Ryan tells her harshly.

"I did, I don't know how he found out, I-" she's cut short in her explanation when Volchok rams his van into the side of the jeep.

"Fuck off man!" Ryan yells at him.

"PULL OVER!"

"Kevin stop it!" she yells desperately at him, but it's too late because they're jolted sideways again. "Kevin!" she cries.

"Pull the fuck over so I can talk to you!"

Ryan's focuses hard on an escape root while Marissa begs him to stop hitting them. The last thing he wants to do it stop and let Volchok near her. So his goal is to get her away from him. He could speed up. Or h could stop and let Volchok keep going except that made for a potentially dangerous situation as well.

"Ryan maybe you should just pull over," Marissa suggests beside him.

He looks at her, searching her eyes for any hint of hesitation. Because if there's even the tiniest doubt in her mind that he should pull over, there's no way in hell he will. But there's nothing, so he sighs. Just as he's about to tell Volchok he'll pull over, the van makes contact with the jeep again and suddenly he's lost control. Marissa screams and he tells her to hold on. The jeep makes its first flip before her blacks out.

A short while later, he gains consciousness again and finds himself lying on the ground. He's surrounded but upside down jeep and debris. He looks around for Marissa, his heart sinking when he finds her lying unconscious next o him. Blood is dripping down her forehead. Bruises are already forming on her delicate, porcelain like skin. Panic washes over him and he pulls himself out of the broken window. His body is tired and strained and in pain from the impact of the crash but his adrenaline takes over and he climbs to his feet, leaning against the crunched metal of the jeep. Fire catches his eyes and he can feel his heart rate pick up the pace. He makes his way around to Marissa's side and bends down, reaching out to her. "Marissa," he says softly, trying to wake her up. That's when he sees gasoline dripping from the tank. He only has a matter of minutes to get her out of the jeep before it goes up in flames. He manages to pull her out through the window before picking her up- much like he did in Mexico, 4 years prior. He carries her away, far enough away from the jeep that the blow wouldn't hurt her.

He doesn't hear the blow. He doesn't see the black sky light up from the fire. He doesn't feel or see anything except Marissa, lying limp and pale in his arms.

The next thing he knows it that he's sitting on the ground, holding Marissa in his lap. He stares down at her, his left arm supporting her head, his right hand stroking her cheek. "Marissa," he chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper. He traces over her lips with his thumb softly, some of her lip gloss transferring onto his thumb. "Baby wake up..."

He eyes start to flutter open and suddenly he's not so terrified anymore. Her eyes are tired and glossed over, but they're open and that's all that matters.

"Hey, hi," he stutters, smiling down at her.

She smiles back weakly. "Hi..."

He licks his lips nervously. "I gotta go get help."

"No, Ryan, stay," she whispers, her voice weak and strained.

"I gotta get help-"

"Ryan," she murmers, her hand grabbing, clutching his shirt into a ball. "Stay..."

He stares at her for a minute, before moving his right arm around her body, stroking her carefully. "Okay...okay I'm not going anywhere." She doesn't say anything. She just looks at him, like she knows that he'll make it all okay. Like he'll make her pains go away. And he wants to, but he can't. She starts to breathe heavily; shallow. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay," he whispers, saying it over and over again.

"I can't..." her voice trails off and she tugs at the neck of his shirt.

"You can," he tells her desperately. "You have to."

"I can't Ryan..."

"Baby it's not over," he tells her, like she doesn't have a choice. "You hear me? You can't give up," he chokes out, his voice breaking on the last word. He holds her tightly and he can feel the heat draining from her body. It is worse than the colour draining from her cheeks, minute by minute.

"So cold..." she whispers slowly.

"I know, I know..." his mouth is dry from lack of saliva and his voice is scratchy; matching hers.  
Babe I gotta get help," he says softly, his voice breaking. But he doesn't move. He can't. He knows he has to get help, but he can't leave her. He could never leave her.

She struggles to swallow and breathe at the same time, before her eyes settle on his again. "I...I love...you..."

He closes his eyes at the words on her lips, savouring them. He doesn't like the way her voice sounds; scared, shaky, and weak. He likes the meaning, but not the way she says it-like she's dying. "Don't talk like that-don't talk like it's over..."

"I can't..."

"Marissa c'mon," he pleads. _She _may be ready to give up. _She_ may be okay with the idea of death, but he's not. He's not ready for her to give in. He's not ready to say good-bye. He lifts his hand to her face and strokes her cheek affectionately. "I love you," he whispers softly. He's surprised by how easy it is to say. He's equally surprised that it isn't as scary as he thought it would be.

She smiles weakly at him, tilting her head in very 'Marissa' way. He wants to laugh but he can't. Not when he can feel her slipping away. "Kiss me," she whispers.

He does as he's told, resting his forehead on hers before pressing his lips against hers. Soft, but firm. Desperate. He savours every aspect of her beautiful plump lips against his. He pulls away slowly, keeping his forehead against hers. She starts to breathe heavily again, panicking. "Its okay, its okay," he whispers, closing his eyes again. He pulls away, staring at her as her eyes start to flutter closed. They stop moving. Her chest stops rising and falling. "Marissa," he whispers, licking his lips nervously. "Marissa," he says, sternly this time. When she doesn't respond, he literally feels his heart break and shatter. "No..." he mumbles, burying his face into her neck and when he doesn't feel a pulse, hot, wet tears roll down his cheeks, mixing with her blood.

He stayed, curled up with her on the side of the road for half an hour before a couple found them on their way by. He doesn't say anything when the man asks if he's okay. He doesn't answer when the woman asks what happened. And when the man calls an ambulance for help, he doesn't even move.

It takes ten minutes for an ambulance to arrive. Fifteen for cops and firefighters. The couple stays. The EMT's try to take Marissa's body from him, but he refuses to let go. She's cold and stiff, but a part of him-a naive part of him- thinks that it he holds on tight enough she'll come back. He knew she wouldn't. And when they managed to pry him off of her, and put her body into a body bag, he wants to tell them to leave it open so she could breath

The minute the doctor's finished fixing him up, he leaves. He goes back to Chino, vowing never to go back to _her_ home.

He shuts down. Sandy Cohen invites him to _her_ funeral. He doesn't go. Summer comes to see him. He shuts the door on her, desperate to sever all ties he has to that place; to _her_. But they won't stop. Seth catches him cage fighting (it's more adrenaline pumping that street fighting) and he doesn't get why it comes as a surprise to him. Kirsten drops by with a "care" package. He takes it to be polite, but her advice goes unheard. He lifts his vow to stay away to go to _her_ grave; Julie Cooper is there. She thanks him. He doesn't understand why. And when he leaves, he really doesn't understand why they care so much about him.

The minute he arrives back in Chino, he finds himself face down on the floor of the cage. By this time, 6 months after the accident, Eddie and Arturo are out of jail and they don't understand how he can go from the being the best fighter in Chino, to being a punching bag. He doesn't explain it to them.

Now a year after the accident, here he is, sitting next to a girl waiting for an answer. Does he believe in fate? He wants to tell her yes, because she's not yet ruined. She can still believe in something. He downs the glass of vodka before placing the glass neatly on the table. "No," he says.

And he doesn't. Because believing in fate would mean believing that everybody's life is pre-planned. That Marissa's life was pre-planned; that she was doomed to die young. That she was never supposed to be saved-and that all saving her in Mexico did was put off the inevitable. He can't believe in that. He can't believe that_ she_ was meant for _that_.

He downs another glass of vodka and throws a twenty dollar bill on the counter before grabbing his leather jacket and climbing to his shaky legs. "I used to know a girl like you," he murmers, looking at her for the first time. She's got blond hair and blue eyes. They always do.

"What happened?" she asks softly. She seems genuinely interested.

He licks his lips and looks down at his feet. He sighs loudly and closes his eyes so tight they start to hurt. "She died." He doesn't wait for a reaction, doesn't even look up. Instead he takes off as fast as he can, shoving his arms through his sleeves.

He was done with the damsel in distress types; the damaged ones, the reckless ones. Ones like _her_. It was over rated and stupid and he hates it. He'd already fallen for one; fallen hard. And she died, on the side of a road. She died the same girl he met 4 years earlier; the damaged, broken damsel in distress he wanted nothing more that to save.

He walks down the street, away from the bar-no real destination in mind, but he knows exactly where he'll end up. A cage. A bloody floor. And even bloodier hands.

It hurts. The skin on skin; bone on bone; knuckle to face; knee to stomach. It's physical and h craves it-embraces it all gracefully. One punch at a time. One numbing kick after another. Because it eventually numbs the pain in his heart; the pain in the pit of his stomach every time he thinks about her. It takes the pain of not being about to save her away; even if it's only until the physical pain wares off.

Nobody understands why he keeps coming back for more, why he doesn't fight back. Some nights it gets to point where they literally have to pull him out of the cage- sometimes kicking and screaming, most times barely able to move. And he still goes back. Because maybe one of these days, his 'time' will come. With the right angle from a punch or a knee or a kick, he could be dead too.

He couldn't save her. Maybe one day somebody will stop saving him.


End file.
